


Of Rhubarb and Men

by Koneia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koneia/pseuds/Koneia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even rhubarb can contain a few insights in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Rhubarb and Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizvoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizvoy/gifts).



> Written for the VAMB Secret Drabble 2013 for Mizvoy, who provided - as she later called it - the oddest line ever given: "Rhubarb . . . it's the secret of the good life as we know it.". Admittedly, I had to take some deep breaths after I first read the request ;-)
> 
> Many many thanks to QS for last-minute beta-ing (due to heavy RL-interference) and to Malezita, Captain_Susanne and JoAryn for their unwavering support! You rock, ladies!
> 
> The story is set somewhere in season seven. I (still) do not own the characters *sigh*.

**Rhubarb . . . it's the secret of the good life as we know it** – at least according to Aunt Martha’s theory, which is in principle fine as long as you belong to the proportion of humanoids who like rhubarb.

The universe looks, however, vastly different if you don’t.

After having spent some childhood summer months at my aunt’s cottage in the midst of a rhubarb wilderness and a cooking fanatic like Martha, I learned to dread this plant in every form. Never would I have dreamed that anything edible could exceed the atrocious versatility of this vegetable, until I was stranded in the Delta Quadrant and made my first acquaintance with its endemic relative. In Neelix’s care, leola root turned out to be even more dreadful. Out of necessity the root has become part of my every-day life, squeezed itself into almost every fibre of my food from breakfast until dinner, and as I suspect, has even found its way into my coffee.

But above all it has become one of the reasons why we survived the Delta Quadrant so far. Without it, we would have simply starved by now. Supposedly, I should be thankful for every root, but today is one of those days where only harsh bitterness remains at our dependence on it.

Having traded not exactly our soul, but at least one leg and two thirds of an arm for a leola root supply, which will keep us going for about three further months into the unknown, Chakotay and I have retreated into my ready room to fill in the reports for Starfleet. How to explain to people far away in the Alpha Quadrant, used to a surplus of food and energy supply, that food could be something so rare and valuable that we were more than bordering a violation of the Prime Directive to obtain it?

Leola root . . . the secret of the good life in the Delta Quadrant – as incurable optimist Aunt Martha would surely say, smiling broadly while cheering away life’s hostility with her humour.

Or, would have said.

Pinching the bridge of my nose and reclining wearily into the ready room’s couch, I stare at one grey PADD out of the many piling on my desk. Aunt Martha’s testament.

She died as she had lived; fully enjoying every bit of her life, especially men and food. Many would have bet the former to be one day or the other the reason for her demise, but it had turned out to be the latter... Andorian leech flambé and Terran whisky apparently doesn’t suit human physiology all too well. Amongst other things, she had left me her summer cottage. And rhubarb.

Tons of it.

A soft thud beside me tears me out of my thoughts. Chakotay’s hand, still clutching a PADD with reports, has dropped on to the couch, and with his eyes closed, his pale and fatigued features look peaceful for the first time in days. A pang of regret pierces my soul. How long has it been since we both were on so friendly terms with each other that either of us allowed ourselves the luxury to give in to exhaustion during one of our briefings? When did the first crack of so many in our friendship appear, which we didn’t find the strength to repair properly?

Closing my eyes, I wearily prop my head against the back of my seat. Aunt Martha would probably have found something positive to say even about the mess which is my life, although I really can’t imagine what ...

_“What she would say? Heavens, Kathy, I’ve never claimed that the secret lies in using rhubarb as the sole ingredient! It’s only meant to spice things up, darling. Besides,you definitely should work on your ability to wallow in self-pity. This performance of yours is pretty bad.” Smirking, Martha digs her fork into her rhubarb pie. It’s an old game of ours; I can’t resist any challenge, she can’t resist snooping in other’s lives._

_Crossing my arms, I pick up the gauntlet. “Alright. How about … snatching enough leola root to prevent my crew from starving is my life’s only purpose in the Delta Quadrant and the only thing which awaits me in the Alpha Quadrant is a huge rhubarb wilderness.”_

_She grins approvingly. “Better, darling, much better. You forgot emphasizing that you are completely on your own and no one cares for you except your sex toys in the wardrobe. And by the time you arrive at home, you will be old, wrinkled and bad smelling and even the rhubarb wilts at your sight in my gardens.”_

_Laughing, I kick a few rhubarb pieces out of my pie. “Martha, you definitely have a real talent for exaggeration.”_

_Her suddenly serious expression makes me shudder and the pie in my mouth morphs into something closely resembling ash. She puts her fork beside her plate. “Do I? Then tell me, what is this with you and this Adonis sleeping on your couch? Why haven’t you jumped his bones yet?”_

_I groan. “Martha, he is my first officer.”_

_“I didn’t know that ‘first officer’ was a synonym for eunuch.”_

_“A relationship is out of the question in a situation like this and-“_

_Impatiently waving her hand, she interrupts me. “You are only scared as hell of what happens if things go wrong.”_

_“Martha, we don’t have the luxury to change ships as we would in the Alpha Quadrant.”_

_“But you could maroon him on some planet you travel by, and, if things have gone really bad, make use of one your nice torpedoes to settle matters. Heavens, this really would have been handy when your Uncle Fred and I broke up. Anyway, there is no risk in trying it out with him - at least it would add a bit of positive spice into your life.”_

_Sighing, I massage my temples. “Things between Chakotay and I are fragile at best. We’ve had some nasty arguments lately...”_

_“Honey, the secret of a good marriage is not to omit debates, but to debate while you let him know that you still value him.”_

_“Martha, we are not married, we are ...” I hesitate, searching for words. “...best friends.” Hopefully. Still._

_“Yes, yes, that’s exactly the problem. Best friends. But only because you haven’t even tried to settle things between the two of you. Tell me, what is needed to mend cracks in ice, Kathy?”_

_Leaning back into my seat to get some distance from her inquiries, I sip at my coffee and peek over the rim, trying to appear innocent. “I don’t know. A few days of freezing temperatures?”_

_Wavering for a moment, Martha furrows her brow before she starts chuckling. “Oh my. I’ve never been good at metaphors. Anyway, you do know what I wanted to tell you, do you?” Without waiting for my response, she leans forward and fixes me with her eyes. “Mending needs time, Kathy, and you have to place your steps very carefully. Thin ice can crack awfully fast, especially if you are blind to other options than walking on it. Maybe to save your friendship you have to risk giving up some control – but isn’t love worth any slipping on ice?” Caressingly, her hand brushes my cheek, as she has done so many times when I was a child. “Don’t you ever forget, darling. Life without rhubarb really is wasted.”_

Someone groans beside me. “Kathryn. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.”

Slowly opening my eyelids, I witness my first officer heaving himself like a ruffled Bajoran feather chicken into a sitting position.

“Don’t be, Chakotay. I had a nap myself. Obviously we both were in need of a rest after this trading marathon.”

Stopping in mid-movement, he gives me a puzzled glance. “Thanks for trying to smooth my ego, Kathryn, but I definitely heard you laughing and talking.”

My eyes dart towards my aunt’s PADD with her testament. “If you say so,” I say pensively, before I look back to him again. “In that case, consider me visited by a well-meaning ghost from my past.” Almost laughing at his still-sleepy and increasingly bewildered expression, I pat his knee soothingly. “It’s a long story about Aunt Martha, best friends, the need to mend cracks in thin ice, leola root and rhubarb.”

His warm and hearty chuckling fills the room. “Rhubarb?”

With a sigh, I lean back and meet the amused look in his eyes. It is undoubtedly still there, our friendship. Battered, weak and fragile it may be after the many dark hours the Delta Quadrant has thrown upon us, but it is worth fighting for every fibre of it – and for perhaps more.

When I don’t respond and just hold his gaze, his features get serious, as does the room’s atmosphere.

Maybe Aunt Martha was right.

Rhubarb is indeed one of the secrets of the good life.


End file.
